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MR CLEVELAND 



MR CLEVELAND 

A Personal Impression 

By 

Jesse Lynch Williams 



NEW YORK 

Dodd, Mead k Company 

1909 



COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
PUBLISHED, MARCH, 1909 



^ '(3 



L!5KA??Y of CONGRESS 
Two Conies Received 

MAh 38 1909 

utMt Oopyriunt tntry 
i CLASS Ct^ AAc. No. 

'L , ... ■.^ — ■■_. ■ ^ J r' 



COMPOSITION AND ELECTROTYPE PLATES 
BY D. B, UPDIKE, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, BOSTON 



TO THE ONE WHO KNEW HIM BEST 




C«()> lifilit, 1907, by Underwood & UnderwoiHl, N. V, 



MR. CLEVELAND AND HIS 
YOUNGEST SON, FRANCIS 



M^ CLEVELAND 

A Personal Impression 

at 

So much has been written about Gro- 
ver Cleveland, w^hom the world ad- 
mired, and so little about Mr. Cleve- 
land, whom his friends loved, that it is 
right, now that this great figure has 
passed into history, to tell of that side 
of his life and personality revealed to 
those who had the privilege of know- 
ing this man as a private citizen and a 
good neighbor, rather than as a pub- 
lic personage and a great statesman. 

For except that he was given to 
shooting ducks and passed his mellow 
latter years in serene, academic seclu- 
sion, there is less known about the hu- 
man side of this President than of any 
public character our country has pro- 

[1] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
duced. While he was with us those who 
knew him kept silent, out of regard for 
his own habitual reserve. Now that he 
is gone, however, they should speak, 
out of equally sincere regard for his 
memory. For the public forms its 
opinions of the private side of public 
characters whether the latter like it or 
not. It is the penalty of fame. And 
those who like it least and try hardest 
to retain the simple luxury of privacy 
are the ones to suffer most. 

The lies about Mr. Cleveland's sin- 
gularly beautiful home life — such pre- 
posterous lies that they would seem 
amusing to those who knew, if they 
had not been so painful to those whom 
they concerned — are no longer be- 
lieved, I suppose, by any one. But the 
effect of this upon a man by nature 
extremely reserved, yet possessed of a 



MR- CLEVELAND 
delicacy of feeling which few people 
understood, was to increase a strange 
physical shyness, of which the world 
never suspected this great rugged fig- 
ure. It resulted in an abnormal shrink- 
ing from public gaze, which was some- 
times misconstrued, but which per- 
sisted all through his life and was felt 
even in the last rites in death. His 
funeral, more private than that of many 
an ordinary citizen, was so dramatically 
simple, indeed, that the representa- 
tives of foreign Powers present could 
hardly conceal their surprise, and the 
representatives of the press could not 
understand why they were excluded 
from the obsequies of the nation's ex- 
President. 

I 

The qualitywhich impressed one most 
on becoming acquainted with Mr. 

[3] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
Cleveland was not his greatness — one 
had anticipated that; but his genial 
kindliness and his quiet, pervasive hu- 
mor. He even had charm. These char- 
acteristics I, for one, had not anticipated 
at all. I had pictured him, as many per- 
haps still see him, a gruff, old w^arrior, 
resting after his battles, brooding over 
the past; silent, except when stirred 
occasionally to pronouncing a poly- 
syllabic profundity ; august, austere, a 
personage difficult to know and im- 
possible to love. I expected to admire 
him, but it never occurred to me that 
one might like him; still less that he 
might care to be liked by those among 
whom he had cast his lot. 

I think every one who had a chance 
to know him must have felt affection 
for him. Sam, his coachman, used to say : 
"The finest Dimmycrat I ever knew, 

[4] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
I'm a Republican." The evening after 
Mr. Cleveland's funeral he said: "I 
could hardly drive for the tears runnin' 
down me face. The finest man I ever 
knew, Dimmycrat or Republican!" 

The atmosphere of greatness — that 
subtle emanation of real power — was 
always present, always felt, more so 
than in the case of any man I ever met. 
So often it evaporates when once you 
have seen enough to disassociate the 
man from the name. But there was no- 
thing gruff or severe about this plea- 
sant, simple-mannered, large-framed 
man, comfortably seated by his library 
fireplace, saying little, but listening 
carefully, sympathetically in fact, to 
all that was being said, with a ready 
smile for whatever might be amusing, 
a kindly solicitude for the comfort of 
your seat and a grave carefulness in the 

£5] 



MR CLEVELAND 
selection of your cigar. "Well, I guess 
there's no law against our smoking," 
was his frequent phrase. He seemed, as 
a friend once remarked, "just as much 
interested in giving me a good time as 
I was in trying to entertain him." 

But no one, not even the most in- 
timate, thought of being familiar with 
him. He always insisted upon carrying 
his gun-case himself when making the 
annual pilgrimage, and upon drawing 
lots for position on the shooting 
grounds ; but he also insisted upon due 
respect to the high office he had held. 
Some of the numerous invitations to 
address quasi-important gatherings 
annoyed him: "They've got nerve to 
expect a former President to attend 
their show." He did not say "me," 
but "a former President." 

His voice in conversation was a lit- 
[6] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
tie higher than one would expect from 
such a large man. It was undoubtedly 
what foreigners would call an Ameri- 
can voice, somewhat nasal, though not 
unpleasant, and with something in it 
that reminded me of the way I sup- 
posed Lincoln's voice sounded. When 
he referred to his old friends and as- 
sociates, there was tenderness in it, as 
he pronounced their names, — "Joe" 
Jefferson or "Tom" Bayard, and oth- 
ers, less known to fame, but equally 
dear to him. The world only heard of 
the famous ones, but it never occurred 
to him to arrange his friendships on 
any basis but the real one — or that 
his more obscure chums were not just 
as interesting to quote and tell about. 
An old gunner, an interesting char- 
acter who used to take the ex-Presi- 
dent shooting, appeared at the gates 
[7] 



ifc?*^-- 



MR. CLEVELAND 
of Westland on the morning of the fu- 
neral. He, like the rest of the public, 
was refused admission by the guard. 
"But I've got to get in. He was my 
best friend. I've got to see him!" 

"Well, you can go up to the house," 
the guard finally said, to humor him, 
"but they won't let you in." 

When his name and his request 
reached Mrs. Cleveland she at once 
sent down word to admit him, and a 
few minutes later he was seen leaving 
Westland with tears running down 
his tanned cheeks. He had taken his 
last look at the features of his best 
friend. The only person outside of the 
circle of relatives, neighbors and inti- 
mates to see the dead face was this 
weather-beaten old gunner. 

Great men are so often great bores, 
— admirable, but interesting chiefly as 

[8] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
curiosities. Friendship seldom thrives 
on greatness. It takes two to make a 
quarrel or a friendship. It requires giv- 
ing as well as receiving. Greatness is 
apt to consume the capacity for real 
friendship. Mr. Cleveland, however, 
was one of those who made and kept 
real friends. He set great store by 
them. He liked to be with them. Na- 
turally, they liked to be with him — 
not, however, because it was an honor 
and a privilege and a liberal educa- 
tion, merely, but because he was such 
good company. 

He was not a great talker. Once in 
a while something would start him 
going, and he would run on for half an 
evening with reminiscences and com- 
ments on men and events, — wonder- 
ful talk which ought to have been re- 
corded even if never printed, — but for 
[9] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
the most part he let others do the 
talking ; he listened. Like many men 
of attainment, though not all, he was 
a most inspiring listener, with a flat- 
tering manner of regarding you while 
talking as if your views upon the topic 
of conversation were quite as worthy 
of attention as his own. He really 
thought so. He was the most im/Tic 3 
erately modest of men, as nearly de- 
void of vanity as it is safe for a hu- 
man to be. He took an honest pride 
in the work he had done for his coun- 
try, but he knew he was not brilliant, 
and thought he had no unusual gifts 
— he was right ; there was nothing ex- 
traordinary about his qualities, except 
the degree to which he had developed 
them, and perhaps the proportion in 
which he possessed them. 

His grave quietness, however, was 
[ 10] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
not of the heavy, crushing kind which 
renders conversation painful or impos- 
sible; it was thoughtful, suggestive, 
often stimulating. He had a real "gift" 
of silence. It expressed comment, ap- 
probation, reproof, applause. 

As an illustration of this striking 
trait and of how the public often mis- 
u'ldeiBtood him, the following incident 
of an historic day 11 serve. On the 
afternoon that President McKinley 
was shot at BuiFalo,he was fishing with 
a friend in a small lake in the Berk- 
shires. At about sunset a man was seen 
rowing rapidly out towards the ex- 
President's boat. "Mr. Cleveland, Mr. 
Cleveland," he shouted as he drew 
within call, " President McKinley has 
been assassinated!" 

The ex-President did not start; he 
simply looked at the stranger, too much 

[ 11 ] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
amazed by this bolt out of the blue to 
say anything. The man came nearer. 
" I tell you," he repeated, panting from 
his rapid rowing, "President McKin- 
ley has been shot — killed!" 

Mr. Cleveland scrutinized the stran- 
ger a moment in grave silence, be- 
traying nothing of what he thought or 
felt. Then making a sign to show that 
he had heard and appreciated what the 
man wished to say, his gaze dropped 
to his line again, though of course he 
was not thinking of fishing now. The 
bearer of bad tidings looked at the ap- 
parently stolid figure of the silent fish- 
erman. "You don't seem to be much 
excited about it," he muttered, and 
putting about rowed slowly to shore. 

Mr. Cleveland waited a little while 
still in profound silence, then thought- 
fully reeling in his line, he merely said 

[12] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
to his friend, "Well, I guess we may 
as well go." On the way to shore he 
disjointed his rod in his careful, delib- 
erate manner, put it in the case, still 
saying nothing. At the landing he was 
met by the nearest local correspondent 
for a New York newspaper, also quite 
excited and not a little embarrassed 
by his unwelcome assignment. "I'm 
sorry to trouble you, sir," he said, "but 
my paper wants me to get two hun- 
dred words from you on the assassina- 
tion of the President." 

Mr. Cleveland at first shook his 
head. "Say this," he finally answered, 
"that in common with all decent, pa- 
triotic American citizens I am so hor- 
rified by this repoj^t that I am unable 
to say anything." Then turning hastily 
away he drove off with his friend, and 
for some time said nothing even to 

[ 13] 



MR- CLEVELAND 

him, as the carriage jolted over the 
hilly roads and the sunset faded. Then 
suddenly as if they had been talking 
all the time, he said aloud, "Well, it 
may not be true." Presently he added, 
" It may be true that he has been shot; 
it may not be true that he has been 
killed" (which proved to be the case). 
After that there was still a longer 
silence until finally just before the end 
of the drive — it was now quite dark 
— he began to talk (and note the ex- 
traordinary prescience of the conclu- 
sion he reached as a result of his slow, 
silent brooding upon the momentous 
tidings): First of all, he said, if the 
report were true the thing could hard- 
ly have been done by a disappointed 
office-seeker as in the case of "poor 
Garfield;" the circumstances at the 
time were not such as to make that 

[ 14 ] 



MR. CLEVELAND 

probable. Nor, he explained, was it 
likely that labor troubles could have 
been the immediate cause ; there were 
no strikes of importance on at the 
time. Other possible causes and agen- 
cies were passed in review and cast 
aside as possible, but hardly probable. 
"So," he added quietly, but with the 
divination of a seer of old, "if McKin- 
ley has been shot, there is no other ex- 
planation than that it has been by the 
hand of some foJTign anarchist.'' And 
within a few hours he was reliably in- 
formed that this precisely was the case ! 
Later, when Mr. McKinley died, the 
whole world, including, no doubt, the 
stranger in the rowboat, was surprised 
and touched at the depth of feeling 
shown by this rugged old statesman in 
his public utterance concerning the 

Nation's great calamity. 

f 15] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
Another example of his unconscious 
"trick of silence" in a different mood 
may suggest a little of the quiet, 
pervasive humor his friends knew 
and liked. One of his neighbors who 
dropped in to smoke with him one 
evening, said : " By the way, JNIr. Cleve- 
land, let me show you a new way to 
cut your cigar, a more hygienic way;" 
and he illustrated it. " First you start 
as if you were going to cut the end off 
in the usual manner, but stop halfway 
through, like this. Then begin at the 
very tip, you see, and cut straight in, 
so, until you strike the ott r cut; re- 
move the segment thus formed, and 
now you have not only a greater draw- 
ing area, but also, by hokling the cigar 
in your mouth this side up, there is 
formed a sort of cup which catches all 
the nicotine." ^Ir. Cleveland listened 
[ 16] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
with grave interest until his good friend 
had quite finished, then without a word 
or a smile, he picked up a cigar, snipped 
ofFthe entire end in the old accustomed 
manner, and set to smoking with great 
satisfaction and no audible comment. 
Once these two were angling for a 
very large bass which had been seen 
several times lurking near a certain 
rock. The professor suddenly got him 
on his hook, but lost him. "Naturally," 
said the other fisherman, addressing 
the bass, "you did n't care to be caught 
by a mere amateur, you were just wait- 
ing for the . ^asterhand;" and presently, 
sure enough, the same big fellow got 
on Mr. Cleveland's hook. "What did 
I tell you?" he remarked, carefully 
playing the fish; "he was just waiting 
for the master" — But at that point 
the bass wriggled off again. Mr. Cleve- 
[ 17] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
land gazed thoughtfully at the water 
for a moment, then shot a twinkling 
glance at his companion, straightway 
turned his face away again and pro- 
ceeded to fish in silence. 

In a copy of his "Shooting and 
Fishing Sketches," which he presented 
to a young friend whose profession was 
writing, he penned this inscription: 

" To , with apologies, 

from Grover Cleveland." The young 
man's delight, by the way, at possess- 
ing an autograph copy was almost 
equalled by his perplexity in acknow- 
ledging it. He could not ignore the 
inscription and it seemed impossible 
to answer it. "Write a note saying 
*Your apologies are accepted!'" sug- 
gested a friend. 

Mr. Cleveland's humor was dis- 
tinctly of the American type — at least 

[ 18] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
what foreigners call the American 
type. One of his favorite stories was of 
the farmer who wanted so much to 
commit suicide that in order to make 
sure of it he loaded a revolver, tied a 
rope to the limb of a tree overhanging 
a deep river, slipped a noose around 
his neck, and pushed out into the mid- 
dle of the stream. But when he kicked 
the boat out from under him the jar 
discharged the revolver, the shot cut 
the rope, he was dumped into the water 
— ''and if I hadn't been able to 
swim," said the farmer, "I might have 
drowned." 

He was fond of telling about the 
time he reproved his dear old friend 
Joe Jefferson for jerking a fish and 
thus losing him. "Why did you jerk 
that fish ? " he demanded, and Mr. Jef- 
ferson turned with a whimsical look 
[19] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
of reproach, and said: "He jerked me 
first." 

It also amused him to relate the in- 
cident of the old negro aunty down on 
]Mr. Jefferson's plantation in Louisi- 
ana. "There was only one picture in 
her cabin, and it happened to be one 
of me — from some newspaper. 'Who 
is that?' asked Joe. *I don't jes re- 
member, suh, but I reckon it's John 
the Baptist.'" 

At the formal opening of the St. 
Louis Exposition in 1903, where the 
ex-President and the President made 
addresses, they were both guests at a 
dinner given by Governor Francis to 
twenty-four distinguished personages. 
The President sat on the host's right 
and the ex-President on his left. The 
one talked interestingly and the other 
listened interestedly and for the most 

[20] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
part in silence; until toward the end 
of the dinner, turning to the vigorous 
young President for whom he cher- 
ished a considerate regard, despite ra- 
dical differences in temperament and 
opinion, he remarked :" Young man, 
do you realize that I 'm old enough to 
be your father?" and he added in the 
same quietly jocose manner, "Do you 
realize that after you get through be- 
ing president, you've got to come back 
and take your place in the ranks with 
the rest of us?" ^ 

The President's attitude toward his 
predecessor, it should be added, was 
always that of filial respect. "You 
know I always feel toward your hus- 
band," he once whispered to Mrs. 
Cleveland when they met at a football 
game, "as a freshman toward a senior." 

One more instance of his latent hu- 

[21 ] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
mor and of the unexpected way it was 
always cropping out. One day as he 
and a neighbor were starting off for 
an afternoon stroll, the ex- President 
stopped a moment to glance at some 
plumbers at work on the leaders of a 
wing of his house, — for it is a sad 
thought, or if you choose, a comfort- 
ing one, that even former presidents 
are not exempt from plumbers. Turn- 
ing to his friend he remarked gravely, 
"I wonder how it would look to put 
another story on this wing." 

**Oh, were you thinking of doing 
that?" asked his companion with inno- 
cent surprise. "Why?" 

"We could have more bedrooms," 
Mr. Cleveland replied reflectively. 

"Do you really want more bed- 
rooms ? " 

"Well, you see," he answered, still 
[ 22 ] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
within hearing of the plumbers now 
working industriously, ' ' they 're around 
here all the time, so they might as well 
sleep here. It would save them the 
walk." Then talking of other matters 
he went on with his stroll. 

II 

After the first surprise at finding him 
genial and approachable, the abiding 
impression of this man's personality 
was his plain honesty. Of this trait, to 
be sure, everyone was aware, but the 
degree to which his sense of truth was 
developed seems abnormal. 

"He was the honestest man I ever 
knew," as a certain distinguished law- 
yer said who had known Mr. Cleve- 
land long and intimately. It seemed to 
be an innate quality and manifested it- 
self early in life, not an acquired char- 

[23 J 



MR. CLEVELAND 
acteristic as with many children who 
turn out to be good men after all. It 
was the only precocious thing about 
him as a child. He could hardly have 
been more than four or five years old 
when one day he was found crying bit- 
terly because a pedler who had visited 
the house had accidently dropped a 
pair of suspenders and was now too far 
down the road for the little fellow to 
catch up with him and return them. 

The story of the neighborly hen who 
persisted in laying eggs in the Rev. 
Mr. Cleveland's yard has already been 
told. The boy Grover soberly carried 
them back to the neighbor's house each 
day, and finally made such a fuss about 
it that the hen had to be suppressed. 

Truth was a passion with him, al- 
most a mania. One of his friends tells 
a story to the point. Mr. Cleveland had 

[ 24 ] 



MR CLEVELAND 
been relating his first experience in 
killing a salmon; the guide had given 
him the usual admonition that when a 
fish struck he must keep his thumb off 
the reel until the fish swallowed the 
hook. Presently a beautiful fish struck, 
and struck hard, but flopped off. 

"I told you to keep your thumb oiF 
the reel," said the guide. 

"I didn't have my thumb on the 
reel," was the reply. 

" But," he added in relating the story, 
"I oughtn't to have said that; I'm 
afraid my thumb grazed the reel. I 've 
thought of it again and again ; it was n't 
right for me to contradict him. The 
guide couldn't answer back;" and he 
actually looked as troubled about it as 
if it had happened that morning in- 
stead of years ago. No further refer- 
ence was made to the story by either 

[25] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
of them until suddenly a couple of days 
later Mr. Cleveland said, *'I 'd like to 
show you just how my thumb was with 
reference to that reel," and he illustrated 
with his rod. 

" Well, if that was the position," said 
his friend, "it didn't tighten the line 
in the least, and you were all right." 

The other thought it over a mo- 
ment. "I hope so," he said, "I hope 

5) 

SO. 

The democratic mode of his private 
life is sometimes spoken of as if an 
ideal to which he consciously adhered. 
With him it was a good deal more 
than a well-followed creed; it was a 
spontaneous expression of his person- 
ality, due to his inherent honesty. He 
liked simple things because he was 
simple. He was of the soil. He had 

but few forms, though these he ob- 
[26] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
served strictly and expected others to 
observe. The inevitable vanities and 
artificialities of a highly organized 
stage of society were not wrong, but 
distasteful to him. He felt their incon- 
gruity with himself. In short, he had 
humor — not the chirping facetious- 
ness of the generation which prates to 
an unhumorous extent about its sense 
of humor, but the real thing, the inner 
vision of truth which is the beginning 
of wisdom and its end. 

He liked and enjoyed all the real 
things of life and despised the unreal. 
That was why he had real friends. 
Only a few people, even obscure ones, 
have real friends in their old age. But 
among the great, history shows a still 
smaller proportion so blessed. It is apt 
to be lonely on the heights. 

That was one keynote of his char- 

[27] 



MR- CLEVELAND 

acter, but along with his simple love 
of truth there existed a cognate qual- 
ity which, however, does not always 
accompany it ; and that w^as an active 
sense of responsibility to some power 
higher than ourselves. In one of those 
rare moments in his usually light con- 
versation when he broke through his 
habitual reserve and showed what he 
thought about deeply, he once said to 
a friend: "I don't see how a demo- 
cratic people, struggling and fighting 
for its needs and desires, can continue 
to exist as a free people wdthout the 
idea of something invisible above them 
to which they believe themselves ac- 
countable." 

Like all great truths, this has been 
said before. The point here is that he 
believed it, and that in these two fun- 
damental qualities, the vision of truth 

[ «8 ] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
and the sense of one's unshirkable ac- 
countability, and in courage, which 
was their offspring, are to be found the 
determining motives of his Ufe. 

Ill 

Mr. Cleveland's daily life in Prince- 
ton has often been described — some- 
times correctly. Eight o'clock was the 
sacred hour for breakfast. His mail 
occupied most of the morning, and 
sometimes the whole day ; for the se- 
cretary often referred to in despatches 
from Princeton did not exist, and he 
liked to attend to things himself, ex- 
cept when Mrs. Cleveland insisted up- 
on helping him. Sometimes he called 
in a stenographer from among the 
students, but he wrote an astonishing 
number of letters with his own hand. 
On the occasion of his seventieth 
[29] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
birthday he was overwhelmed with 
letters of congratulation. He gave up 
a fishing trip he had planned and an- 
swered all the personal ones himself, 
saying : " If these fellows care enough 
to write to me, the least I can do is 
to write to them." 

After luncheon, which was at half- 
past one, he received some callers and 
declined to receive some others. A 
good part of his time was spent in de- 
fending himself from the importuni- 
ties of those who wanted him to make 
addresses, write sentiments, introduce 
books, or boom enterprises. He always 
treated them gently as long as he 
could ; declined unwelcome requests so 
considerately, in fact, that sometimes 
persistent persons, who did not appre- 
ciate his well-known obstinacy, were 
misled and tried to persuade him 

[30] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
against his will. Then he got angry at 
their presumption, demolished them, 
and sent them about their business. 

His aversion to being interviewed 
was well known. He enjoyed talking 
to newspaper men — but not often for 
publication. Indeed, he was far more 
accessible than most of them seemed 
to realize, and often discussed great 
questions with great freedom; but 
when they asked, " Can I print any of 
this?" he would be apt to shake his 
head, or dictate a formal sentence or 
two, and have it repeated verbatim. 
To one young man who kept on try- 
ing to get the ex-President's opinion 
of how Mr. McKinley was attending 
to his own business with regard to 
Porto Rico, Mr. Cleveland finally re- 
plied: "That, sir, is a matter of too 
great importance to discuss in a five- 

[31 ] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
minute interview, now rapidly draw- 
ing to its close." 

In the afternoon he would take a 
drive or a walk. He hated to walk. 
Dr. Bryant told him he ought to ; but 
he said the doctor did not know what 
he was talking about. 

Dean West, who walked with him 
most frequently, sometimes had to 
trap him into it. He would call at the 
house and send up word that it was a 
fine day for a walk. An answer would 
come back that it was "utterly impos- 
sible — ]Mr. Cleveland was too busy." 
The professor would wait in the hall. 
Presently JNIr. Cleveland, fearing that 
he had hurt his good friend's feelings, 
would come out of the room and peer 
down over the balustrade. "Which 
way are you going?" he w^ould call. 
"Yes, sir," the professor would an- 

[32] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
swer, taking pains not to commit him- 
self. "Well," the voice would come 
down, "if you 're going by the post- 
office, I will go that far with you, — I 
liave an important letter to mail, — 
but not a step farther. I'm all worn 
out and I'm very busy." 

Then, when the post-office was 
reached, "Just a block more," would 
be suggested, and finally they would go 
on down past Carnegie Lake for a good 
two hours' stroll, and often the ex- 
President v/ould enjoy it very much ; 
but would abuse his friend soundly for 
it afterward to the doctor, sometimes 
making an open accusation of their 
entering into a conspiracy with Mrs. 
Cleveland against his peace and hap- 
piness. 

Sometimes after his walk he would 
take a cup of tea in the library with 

[ 33] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
Mrs. Cleveland and the others who 
might have dropped in, provided they 
were among those who dropped in 
often, for meeting new people was irk- 
some to him. Once, when he was start- 
ing out for a walk, a. gushing lady from 
out of town caught him. She told him 
how glad she was to see him, how much 
better he looked than the last time she 
saw him, how glad her husband would 
be to know that she had seen him, and 
how much it would mean to her chil- 
dren when she told them she had seen 
him. He waited gravely until she had 
finished, then bowed sedately, turned 
home, and could not be persuaded to 
take a walk again for a week. 

His aversion to experiences of that 
sort was intense. One day, while fish- 
ing with a few friends in his launch off 
Gray Gables, a stranger approached in 

[ 34] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
another launch, and, discovering Mr. 
Cleveland, proceeded to circle around, 
staring at close range. Not only was 
the one stared at miserably bored, but 
the fishing was spoiled for his guests. 
On the third lap around the stranger's 
launch broke down. There was no- 
thing for him to do now but row home, 
four miles away, against a head wind, 
while the guests in the other boat 
rejoiced in silence. Mr. Cleveland 
watched the man's futile efforts for a 
moment, then said, "Well, Brad, I 
guess we 'd better give him a lift." For 
once the faithful old Brad did not obey 
with alacrity. " Oh, it 's the only thing 
to do," said Mr. Cleveland. So Brad 
drew near, tossed out a line, and towed 
the crimson-faced intruder across the 
bay, while the ex-President sat in the 
stern, with his back to the stranger, 

[35] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
smoking gravely and saying nothing. 

After dinner he played billiards and 
did most of his writing, nearly always 
ending the evening with a game of 
cribbage with INIrs. Cleveland or some 
of the neighbors. He was a very good 
cribbage player, but an indifferent bil- 
liard shot. After giving his guest the 
best cue, he usually managed to get 
the crookedest one in the rack for him- 
self, one with a worn-out, hardened 
tip. But he tried hard and played 
with a sober, melancholy earnestness, 
watching each shot as if it were the 
most important matter in the world. 

In cribbage Commodore Benedict 
was his most famous opponent. These 
two had kept score of their games to- 
gether for many years. At the time of 
Mr. Cleveland's death Mr. Benedict 

was in the lead. On the morning after 

[36] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
the funeral this devoted old friend sent 
for the well-worn cribbage-board over 
which they had leaned so often, and, 
summoning one of Mr. Cleveland's 
younger friends with whom he had 
often played the game in his latter 
days, said: "We will play one game 
together in memory of 'the Admiral'" 
(his name for Mr. Cleveland), adding: 
"I think that is what he would like us 
to do." And so these two — the old op- 
ponent and the young one — seated 
under an apple tree on the Cleveland 
property, silently played the game 
through to the finish, and the young 
man won. 

IV 

To the last, even after he was obliged 
to give up shooting and fishing, he 
was fond of talking about it with 
others. He would tell with a reminis- 

[37] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
cent twinkle of the time he was per- 
suaded to try a big eight-bore gun for 
brant, and was almost kicked out of 
the blind by the recoil. " I don't know 
what happened to the brant, but I found 
myself in a heap at the bottom of the 
blind. " He would tell of the time he 
shot a certain rare bird under unusual 
conditions. "Well, I got that bird, but 
it was n't fair, — it was n't fair." He 
manifested interest for the first time in 
a young caller when the latter hap- 
pened to remark that in his opinion the 
black duck was not generally appre- 
ciated. "That's right," declared Mr. 
Cleveland warmly, "one of the finest 
birds that fly. They are not appreciated 
because they have n't a fine-sounding 
name like * canvasback.' But they taste 
as good and are a great deal smarter. 
I tell you, when a fellow gets a right 

[38] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
and left on black ducks, he's doing 
about as good shooting as any one can 
ask. Aren't they great fellows for 
towering up in the air just as you rise 
to shoot I" 

Though he did not say so he had 
made more than one such double him- 
self. He was a fine duck shot. He was 
not so skilful at quail. "They're too 
quick for me," he would say. For though 
ducks fly faster, the sportsman can 
generally see them coming. The great 
temptation is to shoot before they are 
within range. "Good waiting" is a prime 
requisite of the art. But with quail whir- 
ring up in the thick woods there is no 
time to wait. Duck shooting requires 
deliberation and calm judgment; 
quail shooting dash and instinctive 
action. President Roosevelt, if he shot 
small game, ought to be better at quail 
[39] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
than was Mr. Cleveland, while the 
latter should be better at ducks than 
Mr. Roosevelt. The symbolism may 
be taken for what it is worth. Every 
temperament has the qualities of its 
defects. 

Once "while in Washington," to use 
the ex-President's phrase for being 
President, he brought home a number 
of wild swans he had shot down South, 
and. sent one as a compliment to each 
member of his Cabinet and to some of 
his other associates. '* Well, all the boys 
thanked me politely for remembering 
them, but none of them seemed to 
have much to say about how they en- 
joyed the birds. Carlisle, I found, had 
his cooked on a night when he was 
dining out. Another, when I asked 
him, said he hoped I would n't mind, 
but he had sent it home to his old mo- 
[ ^0 ] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
ther. Thurber did n't mention his bird 
at all for two days. Finally I asked him 
about it. 'Thurber, did you get that 
swan all right?' 

"*Yes, sir, oh, yes, I got the swan 
all right, thank you,' and he bent over 
his desk, and seemed to be very busy. 

"*Fine bird,' I said. 

"'Yes, sir, fine bird,' and went on 
working. 

"'Enjoy eating him, Thurber?' 

" He waited a minute," then he said, 
'Well, sir, I guess they didn't cook 
him right at my house. They cooked 
him only two days,' and he went on 
working without cracking a smile." 

Mr. Cleveland resented the lies 
about the enormous bags he brought 
home from shooting, even more, ap- 
parently, than misrepresentations of 
his political acts; at least, he seemed 

[41 ] 



MR. CLEVELAND 

to cherish the resentment longer. The 
other Hes ceased to be beheved. " I 'm 
no pot-hunter," he used to say with 
spirit, "and I never was." 

In his strolls about Princeton he 
always took appreciative note of the 
points of any bird-dog that he might 
happen to see; and once when a caller 
was followed into the library at "West- 
land" by a too devoted Irish setter the 
hospitable master of the house pro- 
tested against the efforts of the owner 
to put the dog out. "No, no, he does n't 
want to wait out in the cold while we 
are in here enjoying ourselves. Let him 
stay, let him stay. I always like a good 
dog ; " and the setter seeming to under- 
stand, as setters often do, walked 
across the room with considerable dig- 
nity, settled himself comfortably at 

the feet of the master of Westland, 
[42 ] 



MR CLEVELAND 
and with his muzzle on the floor 
looked up and blinked jeeringly at his 
owner. 

Mr. Cleveland watched with fond 
pride the budding of the sportsman's 
instinct in his son, and he used to tell 
how "up there at Tam worth that boy 
will lie on the bridge half a day to 
catch one or two small trout," — pa- 
tience and carefulness, as he often said, 
being the supreme qualities for the 
true fisherman. 

On the opening of the rabbit season 
these two would make an expedition 
to a friend's farm at Rocky Hill, three 
miles from Princeton, and there the 
boy had his first real shooting, coached 
and encouraged by his father. It was all 
very simple and informal, like a rabbit 
shoot by any other American father 
and son, quite different from a "drive" 

[ 43 ] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
in the royal preserves abroad; and it 
was hard for the other children in the 
family to understand the elaborate de- 
scriptions of the day's sport in some 
of the city papers. They tried their 
best, however. "The hounds from the 
Cleveland kennels," one of them read 
aloud; and then after a moment's 
thought exclaimed: "Why, that must 
mean old Brownie!" 

V 

Though he knew only a few of them 
intimately, Mr. Cleveland showed a 
close interest in his fellow townsmen. 
It would probably amaze some of 
them to be told how much he knew 
about them. He had an orthodox 
neighborly spirit of the old-fashioned 
kind, was concerned in the affairs of 
the young people, and could not see 

[ 44 ] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
why So-and-So did not make a match 
with So-and-So. 

He knew far more, too, about the 
undergraduates than they were aware 
of. They seldom saw him, except oc- 
casionally at a baseball game or in his 
strolls about the country, for he usu- 
ally avoided the village streets — per- 
haps he was afraid of meeting gushing 
ladies of the sort mentioned. But he 
knew what was going on, and he was 
especially interested in those who were 
working their way through college. 
He had all sorts of ways of finding out 
how they were faring, and more than 
one of them has the late ex-President 
to thank, directly or indirectly, for 
finding the means of paying his ex- 
penses while getting his diploma. There 
was one young man who needed two 
hundred dollars to get through the 

[ 45 ] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
year. Mr. Cleveland sent for him and 
told him that his library was in sore 
need of cataloguing. So the young man 
worked for a few days, and received 
a check for one hundred dollars. That 
was half of what he needed. A month 
or two later INIr. Cleveland mixed the 
books up a little and had the student 
do it over again. Thus the young man 
received his two hundred dollars and 
retained his self-respect. 

It was one of the "old customs" for 
the freshmen to march around to 
Westland on the night after they 
became sophomores; also for the en- 
tire student body to ask him for a few 
long words of congratulation when- 
ever they won an athletic champion- 
ship. Mr. Cleveland generally heard 
them coming, and usually tried to get 

out of it. " Oh, let 'em think I m out 

[46] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
of town," or "Tell them I'm too 
busy;" but he always went out and 
spoke to them, and I think he was 
pleased that they wanted to come. 

On his seventieth birthday the un- 
dergraduates presented him with an 
enormous silver loving-cup, the spokes- 
man holding it as he would a bag of 
bats. I never heard ]Mr. Cleveland say 
so, but I fancy he valued it even more 
than he did the gold cup which some 
of his Princeton friends gave him up- 
on the same happy occasion. 

Except for one or two places, he 
never dined out if he could help it. 
"But I dined there once!" he would 
say in an injured tone as if he thought 
that ought to score him off. But when 
induced to go he enjoyed it after all, 
and delighted scared young matrons 
with his amiability and his interest in 

[47] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
their opinions. As one of them put it: 
"He talked to me as if what I had to 
say interested him!" Probably it did. 
He was not the kind to smile blandly 
at women or ask condescendingly: 
"And how's the baby?" 

His interest in the college itself was, 
of course, keen, and he took the affairs 
of the little academic world quite as 
seriously, if not as frantically, as some 
of the rest of us, even to wanting 
Princeton to win every time in ath- 
letics. Like many modest men who 
have not happened to experience a for- 
mal academic training, he manifested 
great regard for the erudition of those 
who had — unless they attempted to 
impose upon him with it. Then he saw 
through them instantly and never for- 
got it. It may sound odd, but he 
seemed really to think himself highly 

[48] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
honored when asked to serve on the 
Board of Trustees, though the gowns 
and gorgeousness of the academic pro- 
cessions may not have seemed to him 
indispensable to the "plain Hving and 
high thinking" of a rural university. 
However, he regarded the office as a 
trust as well as an honor, and gave it 
more hard thinking than some of those 
who were not as yet ex-Presidents. 
He did not enjoy being treated differ- 
ently from "the rest of the boys," as 
he called his fellow members of the 
board. At the Commencement exer- 
cises the president of the university 
used to seat Mr. Cleveland (looking 
gently resigned) at the right of the 
university throne — an ornate balda- 
chino, which the unappreciative un- 
dergraduates term "the buggy." "I 

stuck it out while Patton was there," 
[49] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
Mr. Cleveland remarked one day in 
his whimsically plaintive voice; "but 
when Wilson came in I struck. I told 
him I was n't going to do that any 
more — I wanted to sit with the rest 
of the boys," and he did thereafter. 

One thing which helped to mislead 
the outside world as to the essential 
simplicity of Mr. Cleveland's nature 
was the heavy, involved style of many, 
though not all, of his writings and 
public utterances. It was so different 
from the easy idiomatic colloquialism 
of his conversation. In his writings he 
invented several famous phrases such 
as "innocuous desuetude" and "the 
restless rich." In conversation he was 
given to more homely expressions. He 
was fond of old saws, such as " There!" 
(when playing cribbage) "I knew I'd 
get my head into a bag;" or, when 

[50] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
something of a confidential nature was 
related to him, "Well, I'll put that 
in the back of my head where there 
is n't any mouth." This apparent in- 
congruity can of course be partly ex- 
plained by the simple fact that when 
expressing himself formally he was 
writing in obedience to the instinct of 
a trained lawyer and with a view to his 
official responsibility as a statesman. 
Moreover, the influence of the sono- 
rous English of the Bible and his fa- 
ther's sermons doubtless had their ef- 
fect when he approached the task of 
writing ; whereas when engaged in in- 
formal conversation he was a man 
merely talking to other humans, most 
of whom he had to put at ease. There 
may, however, be another cause which 
helps to explain this and many other 
things about Mr. Cleveland not gen- 

[ 51 ] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
erally understood: his innate shyness. 
No pubhc character ever hated pub- 
hcity more. Writing is essentially a 
public performance. Unconsciously, 
perhaps, he hid behind his style. This 
may help to account for the fact that 
when under stress of deep feeling his 
style was more direct and clear, his 
sentences more terse and simple. On 
the other hand, it is well known that 
he was not in the least perturbed when 
it came to public speaking. (This is 
often the case with shy natures.) It 
was not what he himself had to say, 
but what others might say to him that 
disturbed him. 

As in everything he undertook, Mr. 
Cleveland was a most careful worker 
when he wrote. Whether it was a pub- 
lic address, a political essay, or a shoot- 
ing sketch, he never began the actual, 

[52] 



MR CLEVELAND 
painful process of writing until after 
a period of careful brooding on the 
subject. Then came a mood of strong 
aversion to the task. He hated to write 
it out. " I was a fool to undertake this. 
I might have known I 'd get my head 
in a bag. I haven't time to do these 
things. I don't know enough!" and so 
on until he finally made himself get at 
it, saying, " Well, this is the last time 
I'll ever do anything of this sort." 
Then when at last the plunge was 
made, cheerfully and patiently he 
forged each sentence through to the 
end. And when the end was reached, 
his revisions, though careful and nu- 
merous, were almost never structural, 
— merely verbal and phrasal. He often 
amplified a little, but the framework in- 
variably remained as was first planned. 
'*I'm afraid it's pretty bad," he used 

[53] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
to say dejectedly to Mrs. Cleveland, 
or any other he might chance to con- 
sult when the work in hand was fin- 
ished. 

"Why don't you read it aloud?" 
would be suggested. 

"No, I don't want to take your 
time." 

"At least won't you read the intro- 
duction?" 

And then when that was read he 
would go on to the end. He felt much 
better about it after that. 

He once spoke of the care with 
which he prepared his messages at 
Washington. Usually he was days do- 
ing them. He kept them by him in a 
convenient drawer of his desk at the 
White House, taking them out from 
time to time, to make annotations, to 
show them to Mr. Carlisle or others. 
[ 54] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
He never did anything hastily if he 
could help it, though he could perform 
huge tasks at a single sitting when 
under pressure. The celebrated Vene- 
zuelan message was a case in point. 
On the evening of his return from 
the fishing trip (for which he was so 
severely criticized) Secretary Olney 
dined with him and they talked the 
Venezuela matter over until half-past 
ten. Then he sat down and wrote un- 
til half-past four in the morning, sent 
his manuscript to the stenographer, 
revised it by breakfast time, and at ten 
o'clock despatched it to the Capitol. 
But he had been thinking about it all 
through his fishing trip. That was why 
he took the trip, to get away from the 
turmoil and see things clearly in per- 
spective. 

He was one of the hardest and 

[55] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
steadiest toiling presidents we have 
ever had work for us. From nine a.m. 
to two A.M. was his regular shift, with 
time only for meals and similar semi- 
official and not always restful diver- 
sions. But on many other occasions 
than the one described he was still at 
his desk, working his way painstak- 
ingly through a mass of papers when 
the sun looked in through the win- 
dows of the East Room. 

"Did n't you ever have trouble get- 
ting to sleep after working at that 
rate?" I once asked him. 

"No," he smiled, "my only trouble 
was to keep awake." 

VI 

Mr. Cleveland's mental processes 
were slow, laborious, thorough. He 
worked awkwardly. Like most of us, 

[56] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
he hated to get to work ; hke some of 
us he hated to stop. He was a most 
persistent worker, as he was a most 
persistent sportsman. No one could 
ever accuse hivi of jerking a bass. His 
eye was on the hne all the time. And 
while duck shooting, when the morn- 
ing flight was over and the rest of the 
party, sleepy from their early dawn 
start, wanted to go back to the house 
at noon, he would stay in the blind, 
watching for the stray single or double. 
Once one of his companions fell asleep 
beside him, and, when about to fall 
out of the blind into the water, was 
rescued by the ex-President, who 
never ceased to joke him about it. On 
the "rest days" (certain days of the 
week when the state laws provide a 
rest for the ducks) he played high- 
low-jack and the game — not for an 

[57] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
hour or two, but all day long, from 
breakfast to bedtime ! One by one he 
would tire out the rest of the party 
at it. In self-defence they usually 
agreed in secret to play with him in 
relays. 

One day, at Gray Gables, a fishing 
trip, carefully plr.nned with his boy 
Richard, had to be postponed on ac- 
count of a storm .^e had so arranged 
matters that there was no work that 
he could do, and Richard was disap- 
pointed. ]Mr. Cleveland set to work to 
make him a wdllow whistle. Now, for 
half a century or so, he had been given 
to other tasks than making whistles, 
so it was not as easy as it once was ; 
but he stuck to it. By tea-time he had 
a perfect whistle. It made that clear, 
shrill note so dear to those who like 
to blow whistles. Nor was the "boy 

[58] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
with a new whistle" the only one who 
was proud. 

When confronted with a new idea, 
three distinct expressions of counte- 
nance marked the three stages of his 
remarkable ability to get to the heart 
of a complicated problem and throw 
aside all the rest. First, there came a 
somewhat wistful look of perplexity, 
as if bewildered, liimost distressed; 
second, there was a mental circling 
around the idea in a receptive attitude 
of mind; and then, third, a sudden 
grasping of the idea, never to let go. 
Commodore Benedict once likened 
this to a carrier-pigeon when let loose ; 
the hesitancy and the circling round 
and round, then the sudden, unerring 
flight straight for home. 



[59] 



MR. CLEVELAND 

VII 

One day when INIr. Cleveland and 
a small party of friends were travel- 
ling home in a private car, — it was on 
the return trip from the opening ce- 
remonies of the St. Louis Exposition, 
— he looked up from his game of 
cribbage, and said as the train slowed 
down, ** What place is this?" 

" This," smiled one of his compan- 
ions, an old and intimate friend, "is a 
place called Washington," and just 
then the dome of the Capitol swung 
into view, looking its best in the opa- 
lescent light of the dying day. The 
ex-President gazed at it with interest, 
thinking no doubt of many things. 

"How would you like to stop off 
here for four years more?" asked his 

old comrade. 

[60] 



MR. CLEVELAND 

Mr. Cleveland kept silent a mo- 
ment. "Well," he said, shaking his 
head, "you'd have to drag me back 
with a rope to get me here," and he 
went on with his game. 

There was just once, according to 
the friend who related this incident, 
that he felt otherwise about the mat- 
ter, and that was during the street 
railway riots out there in St. Louis ; 
and the only reason he wanted to be 
President then was to help in putting 
a quick end to the ill treatment of the 
women and children. The cry of a 
child always distressed him. It made 
him quite miserable sometimes when 
he was walking through the village. 
He always wanted to stop and find 
out what was the matter. He looked 
pained and puzzled as if wondering 

why such things had to be. 
[61 ] 



MR. CLEVELAND 

He was easily moved in other ways. 
At the annual Commencement exer- 
cises at Princeton when the carefully 
prepared valedictory oration was pro- 
nounced to the graduating class by 
one of its members, the tears always 
came to his eyes. He loved youth, he 
enjoyed having so much of it around 
him. That was one motive, perhaps, 
in his choice of a college town for his 
retiring years. "I feel young at sev- 
enty," he told the undergraduates 
when they presented him with the cup 
referred to, — the last time, by the way, 
he ever addressed them, — "because I 
have here breathed the atmosphere of 
vigorous youth." 

He liked young people of all ages. 
He was much pleased when they man- 
ifested their liking for him. There is 

no reason why this feeling should not 

[62] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
be shown in his own words, addressed 
to a fifteen year old schoolboy at Law- 
renceville. 

Princeton, Jan. 8, 1906. 
Dear ; / zvant to thank you for the beau- 
tiful inkstand you gave me on Christmas and 
to tell you how much I appreciated your re- 
membrance of me. I like the inkstand better 
than any I have ever had before; and tvhenyou 
are as old as I am, you will know, I am sure, 
how gratifying it is to feel that there are boys 
and girls who think the old are worth remem- 
bering. With every good holiday wish I am, , 
Sincerely your friend, 

Grover Cleveland 

His love of children was not merely 

an abstract tenderness for the inherent 

beauty and pathos of new life — he 

liked to have them around ; he enjoyed 

watching them. And they, with the 

instinctive trust shown by children 

and animals toward those who really 

appreciate them, enjoyed being with 
[6S] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
him, liked having him around. Some- 
times he would spend a whole day 
gravely mending toys, making wooden 
blocks for paper soldiers, constructing 
water-wheels. Dean West has told 
how "The Princeton Bird Club," 
composed of professors' children and 
others, decided that the ex-President 
was worthy of honorary membership 
to their body. So one day they assem- 
bled, and solemnly read an address of 
welcome to "the Hon. G. Cleveland," 
who bowed and accepted the honor in 
a speech which won for him their un- 
qualified approbation. 

Callers who came quaking into the 
presence, thinking, perhaps, "So this 
is the man who guided the ship of 
state," must have been surprised when, 
for instance, Francis, the youngest, a 

handsome boy of three or four, came 

[64] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
romping in, never dreaming of fear, 
and remarked to the former President 
of the United States, "Hello! You've 
got on a new suit — are those shoes 
new, too?" 

Callers who undertook to inform 
him to his face what a great President 
he had been made him exceedingly 
miserable (though he did not mind 
reading about it when they were not 
around); but if you told him you saw 
his boy Richard make a good catch 
playing ball as you came in, his whole 
face lighted up with his kindly smile. 
His attitude toward children was not 
the smiling condescension many of 
the "Olympians" adopt, which chil- 
dren hate ; he treated them with that 
flattering earnestness which children 
like. "He never descended to their 

level," as Professor Sloane once put it; 
[65] 



MR- CLEVELAND 

"he rose to it." "Some of the other 
gentlemen here this afternoon left this 
bat behind them," he would say to his 
boy. One day these two were seen 
walking home together in the rain. 
Richard was holding the umbrella. 
Rather than let the boy see that he 
could not hold it high enough the ex- 
President walked all the way down 
Bayard Lane with his head and shoul- 
ders bent low. 

Once on the train from New York 
he became much concerned over a lit- 
tle girl who seemed to be travelling 
alone. Finally he had to go and ask 
her about it. She said it was all right, 
she was to be met by her father at 
New Brunswick. But when that sta- 
tion was finally reached the ex-Presi- 
dent, without saying anything to the 

rest of his party, quietly stole out to 
[66] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
the rear door, and watched until he 
saw the child safe in her father's arms ; 
then he returned to the group he had 
left and went on with the conversa- 
tion as if nothing had happened. 

VIII 

When Mr. Cleveland accepted the 
trusteeship of the reorganized Equita- 
ble Life Assurance Society, and later 
became chairman of the Association 
of Life Insurance Presidents, there 
was considerable misunderstanding, as 
was bound to be the case with a man 
not given to explaining himself. He 
knew perfectly well that he would be 
criticized. But he did it, not for the 
benefit of the insurers, but the in- 
sured. He knew that the great bulk 
of the money invested in insurance by 

the fifteen million policy-holders was 

[67] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
the hard-earned savings of the com- 
mon people. He knew that where once 
they beheved everything those in con- 
trol told them, now, with faith shaken 
by the scandalous revelations, they 
were inclined to believe nothing. The 
very existence of insurance as an in- 
stitution was threatened. The impor- 
tant loss would be to the people, the 
loss of the money and the irrepa- 
rable damage to the spirit of thrift. 
He believed he could help reestablish 
confidence. He knew that he could see 
to it that that confidence was not 
misplaced. And the broad view of this 
was service to the country at large, 
whether certain wealthy men also 
benefited by it or not. It was one of 
the few opportunities left him for fur- 
ther active usefulness to his fellow citi- 
zens, and he embraced it, despite the 
[ 68] 



MR CLEVELAND 
adverse advice of some of his friends. 

Having taken it, he pitched in and 
worked hard. He had always been in- 
terested in the insurance idea, and he 
became more interested as he studied 
up the matter in his thorough, pains- 
taking way; just as, when he became 
trustee of Princeton, he studied the 
problem of higher education in Ame- 
rica from the ground up. "And now," 
one of the younger insurance presi- 
dents used to say," the old man knows 
more about insurance than any of us." 

Moreover, he was glad of the op- 
portunity to earn by hard work a good 
salary. He had use for it. Like the ab- 
surd lies about his home life, the sto- 
ries about his private fortune have 
since been seen — even by those who 
told them — to be merely imaginary. 
Surprise was expressed all over the 
[69] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
country at the small amount of his 
estate when his will was probated. By- 
thrift and simple living throughout a 
long, arduous career he had accumu- 
lated enough to leave his family com- 
fortably off, but by no means rich. The 
lies were probably started and fed by 
the imagination of those who look 
upon everything in life, even the pre- 
sidency, as a money-making propo- 
sition, and who could not quite see 
themselves resisting the opportunity, 
for instance, of going short of the mar- 
ket on the day before issuing the Ve- 
nezuelan message, and thus acquiring 
a fortune overnight. 

There was still another reason why 
he was glad to do this work — it was 
because it was work. He believed in 
wholesome activity, exerting one's 

God-given faculties; in work for work's 

[70] 



MR CLEVELAND 
sake, aside from the other normal sa- 
tisfaction of profiting by one's own la- 
bor — not that of others. 

That was why he felt so strongly 
about the anomalous position of "these 
poor ex-presidents of ours," men 
trained and habituated for energizing, 
fitted by remarkable experience for 
great usefulness, suddenly cast to one 
side. Long before he was persuaded 
to sum up his views formally upon the 
question he used often to talk about 
it informally. "Something ought to 
be done," he would say plaintively, 
shaking his head. "As it is now, no- 
thing seems to be dignified enough for 
them. Now there was Harrison; he 
went into law. The first time he got 
up to argue a case in court everybody 
laughed; it seemed so queer. I know 

how it is. I went back into law my- 

[71 ] 



MR. CLEVELAND 
self when I left Washington the first 
time. I walked into the supreme court, 
and there on the bench sat two judges 
I had appointed myself. No, it doesn't 

do So a fellow has to remain a 

loafer all the rest of his life simply be- 
cause he happened to be President. It 
is n't right. It is n't fair." 

"Why don't you write about this 
subject?" was suggested. 

"I'd like to — I'd like to very well, 
only they'd say I was trying to feather 
my own nest." 

When he finally wrote his paper on 
this important subject he prefaced his 
discussion by stating that he had 
enough for his own needs, and that no 
one should take what he said as a plea 
in his own behalf. As if any one would ! 

In his last years ]Mr. Cleveland's fig- 

[72] 



MR CLEVELAND 
ure lost the fulness usually shown in 
the pictures. His face was seamed and 
rugged — far stronger and finer-look- 
ing than in any of the portraits. His 
tread became more slow and mea- 
sured, his daily strolls were shorter, 
his shooting trips were postponed 
"until next fall;" but, mentally and 
physically, he remained a strong man, 
a big man in every way. His hand was 
big and gave the feeling of great power 
when he grasped yours. His gaze was 
direct and very observant, but not 
uncomfortably searching. He was one 
of those who gave the sense of look- 
ing for your good points, not your 
bad ones. His smile was warm, kind, 
radiant, a benediction. The occasions 
when I had the memorable privilege 
of talking with him seem very few, 
but my last sight of him alive was 

[73] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
with this smile as, turning slowly 
and heavily to go upstairs, he said: 
"Good-by." 

Cicero in "De Senectute" tells of 
the pleasures and satisfactions of old 
age, but his own latter years were sad- 
dened with family troubles and em- 
bittered by political strife ; he met his 
end at the hands of paid assassins, who 
found him an unresisting victim, alone 
at his country seat. 

It is rare that we find in history a 
great public leader whose life was more 
completely rounded, or whose death 
was more beautiful, than that of our 
late President. Full of years, mellow, 
serene, loved by his friends, revered 
by his country and admired by the 
whole world, he died as ordinary peo- 
ple die, in his own home, surrounded 
[74] 



MR- CLEVELAND 
by those he loved most. His death, 
Hke his chief characteristics in hfe, was 
normal. But for the very reason that 
he was "a man of common qualities 
raised to the ?ith power," his example 
in history should be the more useful 
to the sons of men. 



THE END 



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